Under the Big Dipper

with quivering nostrils above slightly parted tremulous lips—moist as with the dew of innocent childhood, the eyes encircled by dark shadows—blue eyes, the blue of the wood-violet. She was more beautiful than his dreams. She was looking at him with a pitiful, questioning look, which went to his heart and roused him from his state of trance. All his manhood rose up in him in response to the appeal, and bowing deeply, he said:

“I am Mr. John Morton, Comtesse, a friend of your dear father. I am the bearer of a letter from him to you.” He held the package towards her. “I am here to be of service, if I can, to you and the Princess.”

With her hand still upon her bosom, she whispered rather than spoke:

“Miss Rosen has told me you have letters from my father—pray forgive me—I have been walking fast and am a little out of breath——”

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